


The Most Beautifully Irrational Act

by wintercreek



Category: New Normal
Genre: Babies, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Times Bryan Thought He'd Made a Mistake by Becoming a Father, and One Time He Knew He'd Absolutely Done the Right Thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Beautifully Irrational Act

**Author's Note:**

> Sure to be jossed before the year is up, but here it is for now! Thanks to [RDM](http://newleasemylove.tumblr.com/), [rainbowrites](http://rainbowrites.tumblr.com/), and [Nicole](http://the-guilt-will-destroy-you.tumblr.com/) for betaing.
> 
> "Yes, having a child is surely the most beautifully irrational act that two people in love can commit." - Bill Cosby

1\. "If you can survive the first six weeks, you can probably survive the rest," Goldie says. "At least, that's what people told me when I had Shania." She pauses. "Except Nana. She told me that the first six weeks of motherhood were my only chance to atone for the sin of premarital sex, and/or a preview of hell."

Bryan can feel his eyes getting unattractively wide. "Oh-kay," he says. "How was it? Your first six weeks with Shania?"

Goldie shrugs. "I don't really remember. It's all a haze of sleep deprivation and trying to pass my junior year of high school."

"That wasn't reassuring," he tells her.

"Well, some time in the next four weeks I'm having your baby. I'm just trying to prepare you for the reality of the experience. It's hell, but you can make it through. Almost everyone does." Goldie cocks her head. "That didn't sound too much like Nana, did it? I don't have much practice with the way regular people talk about parenthood."

Bryan sighs.

 

2\. "David! He's sucking on my nipple! It feels really weird, David!"

"Babies suck, Bryan, it's what they do. That's why we learned that 'unlatch' trick, remember?"

Bryan frowns. "No. Come here and do it for me. Please?"

There's a long silence. "It's my turn to sleep."

"And you are clearly awake," Bryan retorts. "So get your lazy ass out of bed and come rescue me from our son."

"No." David doesn't say anything else.

Bryan doesn't have his phone within reach, dammit, because David keeps muttering about radiation and juvenile cancer rates and moving their phones away from the baby. If he had his phone, he could have Siri call David's phone. And keep calling. Instead, he has to sit here with his son, who should be cuddled up against his chest sharing a beautiful father-son moment but instead has decided to make sure that Bryan's nipples are decorative and not functional.

"You could let go and drink your bottle like a good baby, Timothy," Bryan mutters as he studies Timmy's mouth. He remembers something about using a finger to break the baby's suction. "This is not going to be anything I can ever apply elsewhere in life, is it? Okay, another pointless skill. Pointless like my ability to suppress my gag reflex is about to become, since your Daddy David is _never getting the benefit of that again._ " Bryan holds one hand poised near the baby's mouth and takes a deep breath. "Here we go. Ow. Ow. Ow!"

 

3\. "Who designs these things?" Bryan gripes. "Honestly, I understand not wanting to spoil the line of the top, but buttons down the back are for wedding gowns and, you know, people who can sit up unassisted."

Timmy blinks at him.

"Nothing? No comment at all? You _are_ Daddy David's bio-son." He lifts Timmy with one hand and starts fumbling at the buttons on his onesie with the other. "Don't worry, I have a lifetime to teach you about fashion." It takes far too long to get them all buttoned, but finally Timmy is dressed and ready to go. "There. Now don’t you look handsome?"

Timmy spits up all over himself. And Bryan's arm.

Bryan thinks about sighing dramatically, but Timmy's not the most appreciative audience. "What has my life become?" he asks rhetorically, reaching for a washcloth. Maybe he can make Rocky find stylish-yet-waterproof shirts for him.

 

4\. "David, what's _wrong_ with him? Is he sick? Did you break his tiny finger?"

David makes a face of pure exasperation; it's not funny like it usually is. "He's _fine,_ Bryan. There's no medical reason for him to be crying."

"And yet," Bryan says, gesturing at the red-faced, screaming baby in David's arms.

"I don't understand," David says. "I did everything the book says. He's swaddled, I laid him on his stomach over my arm, I gave him gentle rhythmic motion and white noise, and he has a pacifier. That's supposed to be the magic combination."

"He _had_ a pacifier." Bryan holds up the rejected Dr. Brown's Orthodontic Pacifier. "I don't think he likes it."

"Yes, well, I don't like most of this situation," David snaps.

Bryan folds his arms. "I don't know why you're taking this out on me. _I_ can't fix it."

"And I can? If he needed a blood test or antibiotics, I could handle it. But he's just _mad._ "

"I see somebody has colic," Goldie says.

Bryan jumps.

Goldie looks apologetic. "Oh, sorry, I guess you didn't hear me come in. Understandable, with all the screaming. Do you ... want him to do that? Is it good for his lung development or something?"

"No." David scowls at Goldie. "We do not want him to do this."

"Don't take this out on Goldie," Bryan scolds. "It's not her fault that the baby she grew for us hates everything. He's getting a head start on life in LA, I guess."

"Why don't you try the laundry trick?" Goldie raises her eyebrows. "You know, run the washer and drier for white noise, maybe put the car seat on top of the drier for vibration? With the baby in it, of course. Just don't let it vibrate right off. Nana says that's probably what's wrong with white people who are Democrats: someone dropped them when they were babies."

Bryan considers this. "That might also explain Republicans who aren't old, straight, white men," he says. "And sure, we'll try anything. Anything that will make him stop screaming."

Goldie holds out her arms for Timothy. "Okay. Where's your laundry room? Do you have a load we can run?"

David turns to Bryan. "Well?"

"Don't look at me, all my clothes are dry-clean-only." He squints at Timothy. "On the other hand, I probably have something I can sacrifice. Maybe that hideous shirt your mother brought me."

Once the washer is loaded and running with David's workout clothes, Bryan's socks, and the world's most hideous shirt inside and the car seat balanced on top, Timmy begins to settle down.

"See?" says Goldie. "Babies love laundry."

"How are we so bad at this?" David asks.

Bryan has no answer.

 

5\. It's three-thirty in the morning and Bryan is still slumped on the couch, holding a sleeping baby. He's tried setting Timmy in his crib eight times now, and each time it's been the same: Timmy wakes up, furious that he's no longer being held, and it takes between twelve and fifteen circuits of the room to put him to sleep again. Bryan's legs are going to be amazing by the time Timothy starts pre-school. He's looking forward to swimsuit season for the first time in years.

" _Why_ won't you sleep in your crib?" Bryan whispers. "Why do you scream at us every evening until we do laundry? Are you secretly hoping for a career in housekeeping? I respect the domestic arts, but honey we _pay_ people to do our laundry. Or we did, until you."

It's probably the sleep deprivation talking, but Bryan could swear Timmy smirks.

"You're a lovable tyrant, just like me, aren't you? Maybe Daddy David is your bio-dad, but your personality is half mine." He sniffles. "And you're my son, and I just love you so much." One tear slips off Bryan's nose and falls on Timothy, who grumbles in his sleep. "I think we've ruined our lives. David and I are the last people who should be parents. We can't get you to sleep in your crib, which is where babies are supposed to sleep. Our life doesn't look anything like those nice scenes in movies. It doesn't even look like the funny scenes in movies. And do you know what sleep deprivation does to a person's metabolism? If I gain ten pounds because I haven't had a full night's sleep since you were born..." he trails off.

Timothy turns his head toward Bryan and sighs.

"Oh God, forget our lives. We've ruined yours. I'm shallow and David's pessimistic and neither one of us knows anything about children. I have no idea how we're going to raise you at all, forget raising you without screwing you up. But I guess we're what you've got. Us, and a therapy fund right alongside your college fund." He cuddles Timothy a little closer for a moment, then slowly pulls his phone out of his pocket. Bryan stares at it, his finger hovering over the browser icon, but it's too depressing to even think of googling 'Parenting for Dummies.' Maybe in the morning he'll call his mom and ask her how she did this so many times without giving up or running away.

 

1\. Timothy is five weeks old. His hands are waving uncoordinatedly in the air, apparently not under his control yet, but moving.

"Okay, now hold a toy in his line of sight and see if he tracks it," David says, not looking up from his checklist. "Something red."

"David." Bryan almost drops the toy he's holding. "David."

David frowns. "Is he not following it with his eyes? It's still okay if he gets a little cross-eyed, although I'd feel better if he didn't."

" _David._ Come see." Bryan can feel himself smiling goofily. He can't help it. It's a mirror of the expression on Timmy's face.

David gets up and comes to stand next to the crib with Bryan. "A social smile! That's even a week early, according to this list. Although I think the other book said smiling can start at four weeks. Hmm. I wonder which developmental schedule is supported by more studies."

Bryan elbows him hard. "Be a doctor later. Look at him. Our son is _smiling_. At _us_."

Wrapping an arm around Bryan's waist, David says, "He is. He's a heartbreaker, just like his Daddy Bryan."

"We did it," Bryan whispers. "We made a family." From the front of the house he can hear the door opening, followed by Goldie and Shania's voices as they greet the dogs. "This really was my best idea ever."

David smiles up at Bryan. "It was."

There's nothing for Bryan to do but to kiss him, for all the world – and their son – to see.


End file.
